


Bouquet

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Series: Misfit Carnival (AU) [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Acid Burns, Amputee, Burns, Carnival/Freakshow AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Acid flowers” are not something that is uncommon, especially in the tents that harbor the freaks, the deformed, the strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bouquet

**Author's Note:**

> [fahrenheat451](http://www.fahrenheat451.tumblr.com) came up with the whole [carnie AU](http://www.fahrenheat451.tumblr.com/tagged/the-shitty-nameless-carnival), I just end up writing awful drabbles for it.

“Acid flowers” are not something that is uncommon, especially in the tents that harbor the freaks, the deformed, the strange. They’re not flowers at all, actually. It’s acid the guests bring into the tents, sometimes in small vials, but they have other sneaky ways of bringing it back to the attractions. The burns it leaves on skin are very painful, raw and hot and hissing. But when they heal and scar over after due time, they resemble something of a bouquet; decorations to an already-flawed being.

The twins usually take the brunt of the acid—it’s generally saved for the freaks that have purely physical deformities, to degrade them even further. Although they generally keep covered-up, there are a small handful of times Riku has seen the speckles of burns, the patterns of singed-to-skin “flowers” on their pale skin (namely Roxas, Riku’s polite enough not to eye girls when they’re changing).

He knows the small-looking cannibal kid, Ventus, has gotten a fair amount of acid tossed his way. Who  _wouldn’t_ throw skin-marring material on someone who “eats human flesh”? Riku is unsure how exactly he feels about that, because there are two ways to see that case, and he’s slightly unsure of which side of the line he should be on.

Riku has not ever had acid thrown on him. He supposes this is because he doesn’t look different from any other shmuck on the street; he’s got all his limbs, two symmetrical eyes, hair, strong build. He thanks whatever sort of being in the heavens has hold over his destiny, for that much.

But Riku has never really felt too awful about the acid-business that goes on. Sure, it’s sad, because these people are his  _family_ , they’re the only ones who can stand to be around him and it’s their disfigurements that make them as close as they are to one another. But it’s never been something that tortures him inside, or makes him feel guilty.

At least, not until the night it happens to Sora.

He’s doing his own show, in his dingy tent before an amazingly-quiet crowd before he hears the scream that isn’t laughter, that isn’t a joke, that isn’t the Ventus boy from his own tent. It’s  _definitely_  Sora, and Riku freezes up, the spark in his hands dying, the light of the tent diminishing to total and complete darkness. His audience begins to panic; he can hear their voices rising in octaves as they shuffle about in pitch-black, trying to seek the exit of the tent.

Riku, however,  _leaves_. Ducks out from under the tarp of the tent, squints at the lanterns hanging from top-to-top of each tent, to provide people with some way of seeing as they navigate through the freakshow. Sprints between people holding popcorn and cotton candy, not bothering to apologize as he nearly dives into Sora’s tent, shoving the people aside with harsh pushes.

Sora’s backed up, away from everyone, knees drawn up as he cowers away from the people before him. Riku can see the burns, the bright red patches that splatter across Sora’s pale collarbones, and it makes him so mad he can barely fucking see straight.

He holds his arms out, a poor attempt to mask the wailing boy on the floor behind him, as he shouts angrily at the crowd. Things like, “show’s over!” and “get  _out_  already!” as he shoos the people from the tent with violent determination. They’re disgusting, every single one of the bastards in here, and once Riku finally gets them all to stumble out into the crisp fall evening, he closes off the entrance (which is more or less a very thick curtain) and ties it off to make sure no wandering dipshits don’t happen to stumble in here. He faintly notes that he’s probably going to get in several world’s worth of trouble for pulling this stunt, but when Riku turns back to see Sora trembling in pain, tears falling down his cheeks and onto his sequence-decorated dress, all Riku can feel is _guilty_.

“Please stop crying,” Riku murmurs as he plops down before the brunette, holding out his arms to offer some meager sense of comfort. Sora  _whimpers_ , and it’s a bit too much to look at those magnificently blue eyes filled with tears as he scoots himself into Riku’s arms and silently sobs.

Riku takes the opportunity to inspect the burns more closely now. Angry, red splatters across Sora’s chest, damp against parts of his dress. But they’re not bleeding, so much as they are raw and wet, and that’s probably a good thing. He tells himself to remember to ask the twins if they have any ointment for something like this—logic tells him they might.

But, for now, he pulls Sora into his lap, kisses his forehead and ear and cheekbone as he holds him close, until he stops crying and shaking, until they’re simply sitting together in the middle of an empty tent. He hears he people outside, complaining about getting kicked out so abruptly, how they didn’t get their money’s worth of staring at the armless little freak.

Riku takes it upon himself to cover Sora’s ears then, whisper gentle things at the poor boy as they sit in a heap, tangled together. He promises to make sure Sora won’t be in pain, and that tomorrow he’ll go into town and spend the rest of his money on Sora’s absolute favorite sweets, but Sora stops him, cuts him off.

“I’ll make more profits now,” he says with a sniffle, and he’s trying to be happy, but it’s just so fucking sad to hear. “There’s more to see.”

Riku just gathers the brunette up tighter, buries his nose against the hollow of Sora’s neck to hide the heartbreak his face  _must_  be showing. “Don’t say that. I’m sure they’ll go away—they’re not so bad.”

Sora laughs, it’s weak, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “At least it didn’t get on my face,” he mumbles, attempting to sound upbeat.

“It wouldn’t matter if it _did_ ,” Riku counters, tucking a bit of Sora’s hair behind his ear. “Because  _you’d still be you_ , Sora. And that’s all that matters. Not looks, or money, or clothes—it’s just  _you_  that matters.”

Sora smiles then, brings his knees a little closer to himself as he kisses Riku’s chin.

“You’re going to get in trouble.”

“And _you’re_ about to get tickled to death.”

“No! Riku, no!”

.-._.-._.-.

When the burns heal, Riku understands why the name “acid flowers” is given to them. Sora looks all the more beautiful with the splash of pale pink against his pretty pale collarbones and paper-thin chest.


End file.
